


Brave Little Angel

by crime_to_kill_a_mockingbird



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Burn Notice, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abandonment, Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Crossover, F/M, First Meetings, Flashbacks, Internal Conflict, Ireland, Lost Love, Memories, Past, Past Relationship(s), Spies & Secret Agents, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:54:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24912667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crime_to_kill_a_mockingbird/pseuds/crime_to_kill_a_mockingbird
Summary: Game of Thrones x Burn Notice crossover.Sansa gets pulled into a mess left behind from her ex boyfriend, putting her life in danger. As she's in her chloroform induced sleep, she recalls memories of the man that both ruined and sparked a fire in her young life.
Relationships: Petyr Baelish/Sansa Stark
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	Brave Little Angel

**Author's Note:**

> So,
> 
> I've loved Burn Notice since I was, maybe, 10? And although it's been done for quite a while now, it's still held dearly in my heart. So I wanted to write this little piece.
> 
> I don't expect anyone here to have watched the show, because most haven't, and so no you don't need to worry if you haven't seen it. But I would definitely reccomend it.
> 
> Anyways, this one-shot is based entirely off of season 7 episode 2 of BN.
> 
> It was fun to write, so I hope it's fun to read as well!

_The dark whiskey burned a trail down her tongue, warming her stomach instantly. She set to work. Insert the barrel into the slide. Insert the spring into the slide. Slide the notches on the back into the rails of the gun. Push it back as far as it will go. Insert magazine. Racket. Sansa stood, her chair clattering to the floor as she pointed the now assembled pistol at the man’s beefy throat. The men surrounding her froze and the cheering died. She pulled the trigger, the deafening ‘click’ startled the fat man still seated across the table from her, his half-assembled pistol in his right hand._

_“You’re a dead man.” She grinned, knowing she had won his pocketful of money. Drunken laughs erupted all around her. “Now pay up.”_

_“If you want my money, you’ll have to take it from me.” He grumpily declared, finishing off the last of his drink, which he set aside in favour of the shot of whiskey they both took to start off the competition. Sansa’s grin didn’t falter. She reached into her back pocket, withdrawing a magazine that was actually full of bullets, and replaced it with the empty one. She pointed it at him once again._

_The man’s hands immediately went up and his face went pale. She grabbed one of his hands as she rounded the table and twisted it behind his back, pointing the barrel into the back of his neck sharply. He hissed in pain, reaching a shaky hand into his pocket to pull out the bills he had earlier bet her. She ripped them arrogantly from his grasp and walked away, receiving whistles and cheers from the other men as she walked through the crowded pub towards the bar._

_As she pushed past a small group of men and looked up, her eyes didn’t naturally fall on her boyfriend sitting in the center of the bar on a tall stool, but the man sitting next to him, who was watching her as well. His eyes were dark and intensely focused on her person. He offered her a side smile, an almost-smirk. He seemed out of place here: The Black Sand Pub. His hair was neatly combed back and his facial hair trimmed. He wore an ironed black button up with a matching black collared jacket over top. He was too handsome to belong here._

_The man said something to her boyfriend, and she watched her boyfriend’s lips form her name, clearly informing the handsome bloke of her identity. The man’s eyes never left hers and hers, his. As she stepped closer she heard her boyfriend tell him, “besides, she’s taken.”_

_Something about this man intrigued her._

_She leaned up to her boyfriend and placed a dry meaningless kiss to the side of his hairy cheek, the stench of ale on his breath. All while holding his gaze._

Sansa shook her head, bringing herself back to reality and away from the heaven that is her memories. The silver snub nose revolver sat heavily on the glass table in front of her. Heavy, like her thoughts of Petyr. _Petyr._ Her heart ached for him. Nine months of no contact and her heart still aches for him.

“Babe?” Harry called as he walked through the front door and rounded the corner to the kitchen where she sat, deep in her thoughts. Her attractive blond fiance greeted her with a smile, one far too innocent to ever grace Petyr’s face. Harry meant security and endless, simple love. He meant coffee dates and family dinners. Kids, and vacations. He was happiness complete with a white picket fence. Petyr was none of those things. Safety, yes, but only because his presence brought so much danger. He was passionate and confusing and he drove her crazy. He was pain and the epitome of _‘so close!’._ He was bad for her in every meaning of the word. And he held her heart tightly in his grips, regardless.

“You alright?” Harry asked, leaning down to peck her lips. She returned it, pushing down her thoughts and feelings for the time being. She nodded, weaving her fingers up and through the long hair at the nape of his neck.

“Yes, love. Just thinking about the mission.” She replied somewhat honestly. Tyrion had called her this morning while Sansa and Harry were out catching a young man that skipped bail. Tyrion was Petyr’s best friend. Or, old best friend before he left. Just like she was his girlfriend, before he left. Choosing, once again, his work over his loved ones. She should have learned the first time he left her in Ireland; back where they fell in love.

Tyrion found out that there was someone trying to hurt Petyr and blow his cover for whatever mission he's deeply involved in with the CIA. Sansa was surprised to hear that he'd returned to Miami, and even more so that he needed their help. Not that he was asking, mind you. But there were threats on their family, so they couldn't exactly ignore this problem and hope it goes away. They needed to protect themselves, and consequently in doing so, protect Petyr too. So they were going on a stake out to try and find the man making such threats against their lives and that of their loved ones.

"Well, don't think about it too much, okay? I don't want you to make yourself ill. We'll find the guy and take care of it. Promise." _You can't promise that,_ Sansa thought as she lazily spun the gun in circles on the glass surface.

Thoughts of Petyr unfortunately didn't leave her when he did. She was plagued by them day in and day out. But it was expected, in all honesty. They have a long history. A burned spy, an ex navy seal and her… a trigger happy girlfriend. They made a good team. And she and Petyr fell in love all over again. Except this time he didn't leave when his mission was over. This time it was real and it lasted years. And then in the end he chose work over her, _again_. The pain of that stung deeply. She knew he did it to protect her, keep her out of safe, but there were other ways.

Sansa sighed, letting the tension leave her body as Harry happily rubbed her shoulders, leaving a kiss on her cheek. Such a dutiful husband-to-be.

"I won't. I'll just feel better when this is all over and I don't have to keep thinking of him… worrying over whether or not I'll see him." She admitted honestly to her fiance, who tensed slightly behind her.

"Do you still love him?" He asked timidly. Sansa internally groaned. Why did he have to ask that?

"Harry… I think a part of me will always love him. Always belong to him. But no, he's in the past. He _is_ my past." She said, resting her hand over his. He smiled, thinly, and nodded.

"We better get going." He told her, helping her rise from the chair she'd been occupying for what felt like hours.

_Sansa had been spending the last hour drinking a few pints alone, watching some older -far more drunk- customers dancing together to the slow tune someone was playing on an ocarina. She'd come to the Black Sand Pub every night hoping to see that man again. She would usually catch a glimpse of him through the crowd or across the room, but he never approached her. He always watched, though._

_She breathed in long and slow, smelling the lavender to her right, and then exhaled just as slowly. The dark shade of her beverage rippled in the glass as she placed it back down, the light above flickering back at her in the reflection. That's when she felt herself being watched again._

_She turned to her left, eyes falling immediately on that man. Only this time, he was making his way towards her. He was just as good looking as she remembered him being, with a simple black button up, this time the sleeves rolled up to his elbows._

_He stopped in front of her, his eyes taking her in from head to toe. She cocked her head to the side, wondering if he would say anything. His eyes were a muted shade of green; intriguing, like the rest of him._

_"Would you like a dance?" He asked, offering her his hand._

_She looked down at the offered appendage, thinking better than to accept an invitation such as that so soon. And maybe a part of her enjoyed the cat and mouse game. And maybe another part of her wanted to see what his reaction would be if she caught him off guard._

_She reached behind herself, pulling the snub nose revolver from out of her jeans, and pointed it into his lower stomach._

_A test._

_He looked down, eyebrows raised in slight surprise._

_Then,_

_"I'll assume that means yes." He chuckled._

_He led her backwards a few steps to find the center of the dance floor. His right hand found the small of her back and his left held her's. They rocked back and forth, closer than they've ever been before._

_"You've been watching me for quite some time. Are you sure a dance is all you're after?" She purred flirtatiously, her fingers slowly threading through his._

_Something about this man made her feel burning hot inside. Like a flame waiting to swallow her whole._

_"It's a start." He rasped back, touching his forehead to hers as he pulled her closer._

Sansa shielded her eyes with her hand, squinting past the sun rays to see Tyrion standing in the bushes across the road from where she and Harry were crouching.

Sansa withdrew the revolver, admiring the glinting reflection of the sun in the polished silver barrel.

"Are you doing okay today?" He asked her, drawing her attention back to him. "You seem out of it."

"I am." She openly admitted, making his eyebrows raise in surprise. She sighed. "I'm tired of living in the past."

But living in the past was also so, _so_ sweet sometimes...

_Sansa was laying on her back on the cobblestone road in Belfast, Ireland, tampering with the gas beneath a small black car that she knew belonged to her target._

_Once she was satisfied, she quickly shimmied out from under the vehicle and stood, adjusting the long straight jacket protecting her black cocktail dress from the downpour around her. Her auburn hair looked three shades darker damp; the wet strands sticking to her face._

_Petyr was sitting a few car lengths away in an old run down truck that they stole a few hours ago, waiting for her to return. She was shivering by the time she yanked open the rusty door and pulled herself inside, rain dripping off of her._

_"Why'd you park so far away?" She asked accusingly, pushing the hair back behind her ears. She shook some of the water off of her body, ringing out the sleeves of her jacket._

_He had such a beautiful face. He was handsome beyond compare, neatly trimmed facial hair and expensive suits that screamed elegance. He made her stomach quiver involuntarily by only a look. Everything about him was red hot; it was like nothing she'd ever felt before. The first time they kissed, in that Black Sand Pub, it was a sweet, lingering press that ignited a fire inside. And the first time they made love… Sansa could have died after that night of passion and romance and pleasure, and she would have been completely satisfied. Dying in the arms of Petyr Baelish didn't seem like a bad way to go._

_"I didn't want to be blocked in." He simply replied, a half a smirk on his lips. His eyes travelled down to her exposed neck and then down further to the wet fabric clinging to her chest._

_She opened her mouth to argue back but the car she'd been tampering with suddenly went up in flames behind them, lighting Petyr's skin in a soft orange hue, shadows of the flames licking up his neck and across his cheek._

_"I had a notion you were doing more than just slashing the tires." He added with a deeper smirk, his left hand moving behind her so he could shift closer._

_"You think you know me, Baelish?" She teasingly questioned, placing her left hand on his knee and leaning closer. He took the hint, leaning in as well until they were almost too close to look into each other's eyes. His minty breath fanned across her parted lips._

_"I'm learning." He whispered, moving to close the distance between them when the car exploded behind them. Sansa pulled away slightly from the surprise of the explosion, not expecting the car to get so hot so fast, but Petyr stayed in the same position, waiting for her._

_She gave him a shy smile before throwing her arms around his neck and colliding her lips against his in a heated kiss. He pulled her in closer as his mouth ravaged hers, his tongue soothing away all her worries. She was finally exactly where she wanted to be: in the arms of someone she loved._

The sun was blocked out, momentarily, by the passing of a small truck that held fertilizer and various garden tools in the bed of it.

Sansa stayed hidden as it passed, sighing in frustration when the truck parked just out of sight, but still blocking the road.

"That's a problem, isn't it?" Harry whispered from behind her. "That he's blocking the road?"

"Yes, it is." She agreed in annoyance. She just wanted this job to be over with already.

For fucks sake.

Her phone buzzed and she looked down, seeing Tyrion's name lighting up her screen: _Can you deal with that?_

She groaned, turning her screen off again and shoving it into her back pocket. "I'll be right back, hun." She mumbled as she stepped out from the bush and walked around the corner to approach the truck.

The man had a light green uniform on and a baseball cap on his head. His back was turned to her as he fiddled around with some tools.

"Uhm, excuse me?" When he didn't answer, she continued approaching him, placing a light hand on his shoulder to get his attention. "Sir?"

Suddenly, he was turned around in a flash, her arm pinned behind her back and a cloth over her mouth. She knew not to breathe in… she tried not to, but unfortunately a gasp escaped her lips before she could think and seconds later she felt her world fading to black.

_The fireplace crackled in the hearth as Petyr added a second log, brushing his hands off on his pants as he stood._

_Moonlight was refracting through the old stained glass window that her mother had hand crafted decades ago to her right. Back when she had a large, healthy family. Now it was only Sansa that remained._

_Petyr and her were getting ready for their next job, one in which she had to be a decoy of sorts. He hated the idea and they had fought about it for hours leading up to this moment. Even still, she could tell he was plotting alternative scenarios. But he knew this was the best way, so he kept quiet. Almost too quiet._

_She wrapped her long hair up, holding it in a makeshift bun atop her head, her arms up as he strapped the bulletproof vest to her body. He smoothed the velcro out with his hands on either side of her waist, pulling her slightly back against him so she could feel the stability and safety that his body offered._

_She called him out on his silence._

_"You're awfully quiet, Petyr."_

_He sighed deeply, the heat of his breath fanning over the back of her neck, making goosebumps rise along her arms._

_"I just don't like the idea of people shooting at you." He said plainly, a certain amount of conflict found within his voice._

_"You're worried." She half asked, half stated, touched by his concern for her well being. After all they've only known each other a couple weeks._

_His grip on her waist tightened and he pressed his nose into the crook of her neck, breathing in deeply. "You're not?"_

_She laughed lightly, letting her hair fall down around her face so she could cover his larger hands with her smaller ones. He pressed a kiss to the side of her neck, sending a tingling sensation down her spine._

_She stepped forwards to create some distance between them, knowing that if she didn't, she'd want him inside her again for the third time that evening. She sat down on the edge of the couch, taking a minute to look out the window, watching droplets of rain slowly slide down the glass and leave behind a shiny wet trail in their wake. It was oddly calming. The calm before the storm, almost._

_"One thing you'll learn about me, Petyr Baelish…" She started, turning her head towards him again. He was still standing, looking out of place and on edge. "I never worry."_

_He didn't answer, his eyes full of fear and anxiety… but also… dare she say it? Love._

_He lifted his hand, rings glinting in the fire light, and pressed his knuckles delicately against her cheek bone. He slid them down an inch and she closed her eyes, enjoying the caress of his love._

Something sharp tapped on that same cheek, bringing her out of her dream state, though it unfortunately wasn't the fingers of Petyr Baelish that was waking her, but a blade held in the hand of a criminal standing over her.

"Rise and shine, sleepy head." The man grinned. He had long dark hair and chocolate brown eyes, his build big and strong.

Sansa's eyes started darting around in all directions trying to identify where she was. It was clearly an abandoned building, shards of glass and broken objects littered the concrete floor. The windows were boarded up, only letting sunlight peek through the cracks between each plank. There was a door directly in front of where she sat, tied to an old wooden chair. Each leg was strapped down as well as her hands, and unfortunately she didn't have her lock picks with her. Not even a bobby pin.

"Come on." He snapped in front of her, drawing her attention back to him. "Take a few deep breaths and wake up."

She listened, breathing in deeply through her nose once she noticed her mouth was gagged. It smelled musty and damp.

"There you are." He said slowly, drawing out each word. "Your friends are almost here. And that boyfriend of yours… Petyr Baelish, yes?"

 _'No. He left me just under a year ago to make good on his deal to the CIA. I haven't seen or spoken to him since.'_ She thought, but nodded anyways, for she knew what he meant. She was important to Petyr, maybe the most important thing in his life despite everything, so this man thought he could buy his freedom from the government with her life.

Petyr had gotten her out of worse scenarios than this before in the past, but with one glance around the room she realized that all his typical tricks wouldn't work here. Either they let this man walk free, which she knew the government wouldn't let happen, or she dies.

She looked down at the man as he paced, trying to assess him. He had a pocket knife in one hand, a gun shoved into the back of his belt and a cellphone in his front left pocket.

How the fuck was she going to get out of this?

_"When I was younger," Sansa started, drinking back the last of her wine and setting it down on the wooden coffee table where Petyr's feet rested. "My father used to get caught up in bad business trying to provide for a family of eight. I watched him get beaten and shot at."_

_Petyr sat and listened. He was always a quiet, private man. One that would sit and listen for hours before offering a word to contribute. She opened up a lot more often and a lot sooner than he ever did. But that was okay, that was who he was. And she loved him for it._

_"But if he was afraid, he never showed it." She moved closer to him on the couch, and Petyr welcomed her with open arms. She snuggled against him, breathing in his scent and feeling it lull her into a state of calmness and relaxation._

_"He always said there was a difference between living and living free."_

The ringing of a phone snapped Sansa back to reality. Her captor retrieved the noisy device and answered the call. "Cutting it close, aren't you?"

She wondered who he was talking to. Tyrion… Harry… someone from the government… _Petyr?_

"Who is this I'm talking to?" She heard him ask. She unknowingly held her breath as she waited.

"Baelish?" He questioned after a moment's pause. Sansa's heart lurched. He strode quickly across the room to the boarded up windows and looked through one of the gaps to confirm what he was hearing. "They say you aren't in Miami anymore."

_Petyr was here._

She could hear the mumbles of whatever Petyr was telling this man over the other end of the phone, though she couldn't pick up on a single word.

Her captor chuckled darkly. "Those are some serious threats, Baelish."

He walked back over to where she sat, switching the phone to his non-dominant hand and suddenly fisting her hair, making her scream through the gag in her mouth.

"You hear that? That's your girl. And I could easily hurt her a lot more… in fact I _want_ to hurt her a lot more. Who knows, maybe I'll make her _my_ girl, instead." His eyes darkened as he stared her down.

Petyr's voice was more distinct now, angry, but she still couldn't make out what he was saying. Her captor _tsked._ "Did I hit a nerve?" He teased.

Sansa's eyes closed tightly as she took a few steadying breaths. In an attempt at calming down her body, her mind ventured yet again to the past:

_"He was an honorable man." She told him, her face still pressed into his chest as his hand rubbed her back in long strokes. "But of course, living with honor only put us in more danger."_

_His rubbing stopped and he squeezed her shoulder comfortingly instead, clearly feeling that this was a sensitive subject for her._

_"So my father came up with a plan to warn us if he knew trouble was brewing." She continued, pulling back to look at him properly. She placed her palm flat against his cheek, letting it stroke down to the side of his neck._

_"He would say: Sansa," she looked deeply into his eyes. "It's time to be brave, little angel." Her tongue moved around every word without trying -ingrained into her memory forever- hearing her father's voice in her head as she said them._

"So here's what I want from you and your CIA pals." Her captor announced, pacing back and forth yet again. Sansa watched quietly as it played out, feeling hopeless. Petyr was here, and he was going to watch her die.

"One million dollars, a blank passport to Canada and a clear flight path out of Miami." He said, leaving no room for argument. "I will keep Sansa with me until I safely land, far away from here."

Would he even let her go if Petyr agrees to his terms? Or would he kill her? Rape her like he said he would? Sansa felt herself getting worked up again, so she focused breathing deeply to steady herself.

"Stop wasting my TIME!" He yelled out angrily in response to something Petyr had said. "I sent proof of life to your friend an hour ago."

"No!" He yelled out again, pulling out his gun and pointing it at her head. Her eyes closed as fear struck through her. "I'm the one giving the orders here. And right now I have a gun to your love's head."

There was a moment's pause when her captor's brow creased and he suddenly ran over to the window, looking out again. Sansa wondered what he saw, what Petyr was wearing and what he looked like now. Was he still clad in a black suit with that signature mockingbird pin and neatly trimmed hair? What has the government had him doing these past nine months?

"No, wait! Stop!" He yelled out, sighing in frustration as he turned back around to face her. "Fine, you can talk to her. You get ten seconds of quality time before you either agree to my terms or I put a bullet in her skull. Got it?"

He ripped the gag from her mouth and held the phone out towards her.

There was a pregnant pause before his deep raspy voice filled her ears. "Sweetling?"

Her heart broke hearing his voice. Hearing that nickname again after so long. "I'm here, Petyr." She choked out, trying to mask the pain and fear in her voice. She knew he'd see through it regardless.

Hearing that voice, his voice, brought back so much; memories and emotions… she was beyond overwhelmed by them.

_"Brave little angel?" He questioned, reaching up to play with a stray strand of her hair, twisting it about his finger._

_She nodded mutely. "It was a code of sorts, I suppose." She paused as he let go of the hair in favour of cupping her cheek. He was always so affectionate with her. Always needed to be touching her. "What it really meant was: get down on the floor and start praying 'til it's over."_

"I'm going to get you home." Sansa's eyes closed, knowing he was only saying what he thought she needed to hear. Or maybe he was saying it to ease his own mind. Maybe he believed that… that he would figure out a way.

Something that peaked her interest was his accent: _American._ He's faked a lot of accents before, so this must be a part of his cover… this fake accent. She understood why he needed to do it... though she wished, if this was going to be the last time she would ever hear his voice, she wanted it to be real. She wanted it to be irish, like where they first met and fell in love. His true self.

"And Sansa,"

She looked back up at the phone, as if he were standing there instead. She could almost smell the mint on his breath. Feel the heat of his hands. See the green of his eyes. And taste the salt of his skin.

His voice dropped low, quiet, and she knew this next part was just for her. He let his irish accent drawl out as he said: "It's time to be brave, little angel."

She felt her blood run cold.

It was like the world froze over and time was moving in slow motion. She looked up at her captor, who seemed confused.

She didn't even think. She didn't have time to, for she knew what that sentence meant; she had told him it's meaning years ago.

She threw all her weight to one side of the chair and let it fall hard to the concrete, the wood bruising her arm from the fall and glass shards cutting deeply into her wrist. It was seconds after, if not less than that, when the shots fired out.

Machine rifles, and by the sounds of it, _many_ of them. Before she could blink, every square inch of the room was lit up with gun fire, but she was safe on the ground. Her captor was hit at least a dozen times before he collapsed in a heap beside her, blood splattering her body and pooling just next to her. The wood from the boards on the windows splintered before eventually large chunks broke off entirely. The tin from the walls of the building were dented and soon layered in dozens of tiny bullet holes.

She let out a long breath as the firing slowly seized to exist and all that was left was a painful, ringing silence.

A moment later the door was kicked open and wide green eyes were crouching down to inspect her for damage.

"Petyr…" She heard herself mumble, feeling the need to reach for him. She was still groggy from the chloroform and in shock from the fall and the firing, but she knew she needed to be held. And by him, specifically. So when he ripped off her bounds and helped her into a sitting position, her arms wrapped immediately around his neck and her body collapsed against his.

 _"Shh,"_ he hushed, petting her hair. "It's okay, sweetling."

She hated him for leaving her and for putting her in this position in the first place. And she hated him for a number of other things he'd done in the past, and promises he'd broken, but for right then in that moment, all she needed was the comfort that only his arms could provide.

It became clear to her rather quickly that he'd been talking to her this entire time, and she'd barely picked up on any of it.

She tried to focus on his voice.

"Look at me, hey." Her eyes found his and he smiled, though it was short lived. He found a small cut on her forehead from falling and his frown only deepened upon finding the glass wedged into her wrist. "Come, my love, we need to tend to that."

She couldn't stand. She couldn't walk. She could barely focus on him. He must have realized that at some point, for she found herself being lifted into his arms and carried out into the sunlight. She hid her face in the crook of his neck, breathing in that familiar scent for the first time in just under a year.

It was admittedly _so_ good to see him. And she was bitter about that realization, but it was true. She had missed him, despite everything. And she knew she still loved him. But he was so toxic… so bad for her… and he was still in the grips of the CIA at this point… what kind of life would they be able to have together? Not a happy one. Sure, they would find happy moment's in amongst all the danger and secrets and lies and deceit… but what kind of life was that? Sansa was ready for some normality, and she currently had a wonderful boyfriend who could give that to her. Was she really going to throw that away for a life like this?

Later, as a medic patched her up and gave her some water to drink along with a strong Advil, and she called Harry and Tyrion and informed them on what had happened, Petyr approached her again.

He was wearing a grey suit with a white dress shirt and black tie, a matching grey vest around his midsection and pointed black dress shoes. Though Sansa wondered how comfortable he could be with so many layers all buttoned up in such a warm climate. He didn't seem fazed by the heat in the slightest, however. She supposed he always wore such nice, long sleeved outfits, so it wasn't much of a stretch. The mockingbird pin was gone, and his beard was thicker, but besides that he looked the same as when he left.

Attractive, charming, business-like, intimidating, wealthy, dangerous... and admittedly the love of her life.

"How are you feeling?" He asked, glancing down at her bandaged arm.

She didn't answer his question, having a more urgent one of her own to ask him. "You remembered my story?" She asked, though the question came more out of disbelief than anything. She had told him that _years_ ago. Perhaps even a decade ago by now.

He smiled and it was surprisingly genuine. He stepped closer. Close enough for her to catch his scent again. "I never forgot." He countered, searching her eyes.

She swallowed thickly in an attempt to push down the ball forming in her throat. He tried to take another step forward, his right hand twitching at his side as if wanting to reach for her. "Sansa-"

She stopped him with a hand on his chest. She reached to press her lips against his stubbly cheek. "Take care." She whispered in his ear.

As she pulled back, she saw the glazed-over look in his eyes and instantly knew that he had understood what she meant.

She pushed past him, her cheeks damp with tears as they started to fall and her mouth salty with the taste of them as she steadily walked away, sure to not look back. Not even once. And her heart _ached._ It ached. She touched the tip of her index finger to her lips, closing her eyes as she savoured the last taste of his skin that she would ever receive.

_The man’s eyes never left hers and hers, his. As she stepped closer she heard her boyfriend tell him, “besides, she’s taken.”_

_Something about this man intrigued her._

_She leaned up to her boyfriend and placed a dry meaningless kiss to the side of his hairy cheek, the stench of ale on his breath. All while holding his gaze._

_“Taken?” The handsome man questioned as his smirk deepened, watching her actions closely. “You see that?” His irish accent rang loudly, which sounded like it belonged a bit further south than Belfast._

_“That’s the kiss you give when it’s over.”_


End file.
